Friday, February 05, 2016

You pick up the ball, but it feels awkward in your hands. Too heavy,
or maybe too light. It's hard to believe there was once a time you
were even decent at this at all.

You look at the goal,
but it seems too high or too far away. You decide to dribble a couple
of times, an attempt to get a feel for the game once again.

There's
no one around, so you shoot. You miss the goal by a foot and the ball
bounds harmlessly, first on the pavement then into the grass.

Air ball.

It
was always your tradition, or compulsion, to make your last shot of the
day. Which today might very well be your first shot of the day. So
you retrieve the ball, dribble back to the same spot and try again.

Though it feels as clumsy as the first, this time the ball clangs off the backboard then the side of the rim. A little closer.

As
you try and miss a third time, you wonder if it will ever feel as it
once did, years ago when you could sometimes sense where the goal was
and make the basket without even looking.

You think most likely not. O, how you took those times for granted.

Finally,
on your seventh or eighth or ninth attempt, the ball drops through the rim
unscathed, making that sweet, once-familiar sound as it swishes through
the nylon.

And you think maybe -- with good weather,
countless hours of practice and frustration, and help from above -- you
can learn to write again.